The Calendar
by agelessdaughter
Summary: Two young Death Eaters infiltrate the halls of Hogwarts on a mission: find out Harry Potter's secrets. Little do they know that they will find much more than they were looking for. OC's all over. OC x OC main pairings, mentions of R/H and H/G. M/M, F/F
1. Prologue

"Dempsey, Rocciano, I assume you are both aware of the reason I have summoned you."

Kaelen Dempsey shakes his head mutely, carefully, dark amber eyes fixed on the unyielding stone floor beneath him rather than on the imposing form inhabiting the throne-like chair a few feet away. The sliver of light trickling in through the high windows is tinted a dark blue by the descending summer night, but the roaring fireplace casts everything in the room into a tumultuous dance of writhing shadows that flicker over the two kneeling bodies, Alyssa's and his own, that are currently the only other living things in the room besides the owner of the high, cold voice and the gigantic, lazily hissing snake draped over the back of her master's chair. The harsh steadiness and unfeeling cold of the floor radiates a steadily growing ache through Kaelen's knees, shooting in a quiet throb up long, spindly legs and climbing his spine until it spreads in a discomforting blanket across his narrow shoulders, his entire too-tall-too-skinny frame murmuring silent protest at holding one position for so long. He makes no motion to rise, though, the only motion of his body the fluid slide of his gaze to his left, locking onto a darker pair of orbs that flash in the firelight.

"I'm afraid we don't, my lord," Alyssa murmurs in her familiar low alto, the tones rich but grating at the same time, a caress of sound that both hurts and heals at once. Her hair falls in thick waves to the floor as she ducks her head even more, a dark curtain of black-brown that shifts to obscure her face from Kaelen's view. He knows, though, years of companionship and close observance allow him the knowledge of the carefully veiled confusion that is surely etched into her features, full lips pursed into a tight line and caramel skin pulled tight over her prominent cheekbones by the inherent tension that always seems to ripple just beneath her surface. "We left as soon as we received the summons, we didn't wait to be briefed on the nature of it."

Kaelen hums softly in assent to her statement, the cimmerian shade of the still-fresh Mark on his forearm tingling against the dark fabric of his robes. They had indeed left in a hurry, apparating into what Kaelen now recognizes as the Malfoy's study within seconds of feeling the searing, invisible flames licking along their skin. They are young, among the youngest of the Death Eaters' ranks at eighteen years of age, and both eager to please, eager to rise to favor and prove their worth, and they had not hesitated to jump at the first hint of opportunity. The tension in his own gangly frame echoes Alyssa's as he muses silently that their overzealous approach might not have been the best method, a sour expression tugging downwards at the corners of his mouth as he finally gives into the steadily throbbing discomfort seeping into his bones and shifts slightly, bowing his head a bit lower as a smooth, even tenor blooms over his lips. "We offer our sincerest apologies. We'll make sure to wait for information in the future."

"Very well, then. We shall have a conversation. I have time. Have a seat, both of you," the Dark Lord says, and Kaelen allows himself a faint spark of hope based on the fact that he can't seem to find any great displeasure in his voice.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the gilded mirror above the fireplace as he and Alyssa get to their feet, already pale skin cast into an even more stark pallor by the dim lighting of the fire and the stress pulling tight at every muscle in his body, draining the little color there was to begin with from his face.

He has Dempsey features, the spitting image of his father and grandfather in their youth; anyone who meets him inevitably informs him of this within seconds. His face is all sharp angles and defined features, chiseled jawline and elegant cheekbones brushed by the stray tousles of honey-brown hair that had been straight and immaculately styled prior to being knocked off-kilter on his journey here, the carefully maintained length falling to about the bottom of his ears. Wide eyes gleam a deep, tawny shade of amber like molten caramel in the smooth reflection, sitting just above a nose that has a slight bump along the bridge but is otherwise proportional and accented by defined brows that seem permanently arched into an expression of bored aloofness. His lips are somewhat thin but otherwise smooth and a light pink hue, the normal definitive cupid-bow shape evened out into a thin line from where they remain pursed in trepidation, a prominent Adam's apple along the slender, pale column of his neck moving noticeably when he swallows heavily and finally glances away from the reflective glass.

The chair he settles into would be extremely comfortable for someone of normal stature but only succeeds in making all six feet and four inches of him feel awkward and ungainly as he folds himself into a seated position, height accentuated by the almost painfully skinny state of his form, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds or so, give or take. Kaelen is rarely nervous and never, _ever_ shows it but now his body betrays him mutinously, the apprehensive stutter of his hands as the slender structure of his palms and almost abnormally long, thin pianist's fingers wind themselves together in a convoluted mess in his lap saying more about his mental state than he ever could with words. He is cold, he is composed, he is collected, he is all of those things in every time and every place except for here and now, where he notes with embarrassment adding a faint twinge of pink across the snow-white plane of his cheekbones that he probably looks like nothing more than a skittish, overgrown child. Reprimanding himself internally, Kaelen stops wringing his hands on the sheer force of will power and makes an effort to hold his head a bit higher, like he would in front of anyone else in the world.

Alyssa is far more composed beside him, darker hair and skin and eyes masking the power of a growing storm that she seems to have tethered in out of respect. Her clever, agile hands brush her hair back into place with a flick of her slender wrists, petite form seeming much bigger than it is by virtue of the way she carries herself, confidence (or rather defiance that she passes off as confidence, he _knows_ her) inherent in her posture and a quick, canny intelligence gleaming behind the deeper dark of her eyes. The human windstorm that Kaelen calls his best friend has always been flawlessly effective under pressure, normally he is too, but something about the apprehension humming palpably in the air in an eerie harmony with the buzz of the Mark against his skin sets his teeth on edge, makes something melt through the icy, haughty composure that usually sits so thick in his veins and set his body humming with an uneasiness that he isn't accustomed to. Intuition has always been one of his strong suits, and if the screaming signs of his subconscious are anything to go by, Kaelen has a sinking feeling that whatever the Dark Lord called them here for is not going to end well. Still, this sort of weakness is a lapse that he will kick himself for later, and he makes a concerted effort to draw himself up to a facsimile of Alyssa's intrepid stature, the trademark supercilious chill settling over his elegant features even though he still feels a twinge of anxiety twist at his stomach when he brings his tawny gaze level with the scarlet one across the hearth rug. "What are your orders, my lord?"

A humorless chuckle splits the air, devoid of any sort of mirth but not dripping with malice the way Kaelen would have expected it to. "Always so business-oriented, Dempsey. I was going to ask you how your family was faring. Surely your grandfather was proud to see you join our ranks."

"Very proud," Kaelen affirms with a curt nod, more uncomfortable in the situation than he lets on. "He said I was doing well, helping to restore the family honor after my father…"

"Ah, yes, that was a regrettable affair. You would think that you killing your father would have restored the family honor in Ambrose's eyes."

"My grandfather expects a lot of me," Kaelen mumbles at the mention of the very act that had been his initiation into the Death Eaters' ranks, the only reason he'd been allowed to join so young. His father's screams echo in his mind, and the memory brings a feral grin to his face, teeth flashing shiny-bright in the fire's glow. It had been too easy to end him without remorse or second thoughts, the bright-purple flash of the curse splitting the air only seconds before the shrieks of agony that had eventually petered out into silence, the floor of the study soaked through with the stains of human misery that he'd thought looked strangely pretty against the carpet (they can say all they want about the Dempseys turning their children into monsters, but Kaelen knows full well that he was born one). "I'm the last of the line, that filthy little half-breed that calls herself my half-sister certainly doesn't count."

He feels Alyssa tense up beside him more than sees it, the unexplained tension rippling off her skin in waves as dark as her eyes, sharp and drawn instantly to his across the dim stretch of space. A passing gale ghosts across her face but is gone as quickly as it came, regal features settling back into a mask of neutrality as the Dark Lord hums his assent and speaks again.

"As well he should. The Dempsey's were a proud lineage before your father produced that regrettable little mistake of his. And you, Rocciano, how does your family fare?" There is a hint of something that Kaelen can't quite place within the measured, reedy tones of his voice, but whatever it is, it makes Alyssa go all but rigid in her seat, jaw clenching and knuckles white on the arms of the plush chair. It is a rare thing to see her so obviously rattled; their years of companionship are enough experience to tell Kaelen that his friend has been knocked far enough off balance to do something extremely stupid if left to her own devices – Lyss has never been in control of her temper, a raging wildfire in perfect counterpoint to his own icy wrath – and it's that line of thought that propels his arm across the small space between them, spindly fingers brushing questioningly over her the solid set of her shoulder and a silent question simmering liquid amber in his eyes. Her gaze meets his, the untamable flame flickering in black-brown pools dying down until they hold only the reflection of the smoldering fireplace, and Alyssa takes a slightly shaky breath, nodding her thanks in Kaelen's direction even as she shrugs his hand off and fixes her feet with a stare that could cut steel.

"The terms of my initiation have been fulfilled, my lord."

"Excellent." Kaelen arches a questioning eyebrow in Alyssa's direction – even after knowing her for some eight-odd years she's never been forthcoming about her family, and he knows better than to push her – but the inquisitiveness remains locked away behind his lips for a later place and time, cut off by the unsettling sound of garbled hissing and the gargantuan snake decorating the back of the armchair across from the two young Death Eaters consequently slithering onto the floor and out of the room, scales whispering across the harsh stone. "Nagini has gone to fetch the other operative in the mission I am assigning to the two of you. It would seem that we are woefully misinformed as to the goings-on at Hogwarts School. This must change if we are to gain the upper hand, but, as I'm sure you know, it would not be prudent to simply send some of the older operatives marching through the doors under Dumbledore's nose. We need younger spies. Ones that can pass for students, infiltrate the societal structure and get information directly from the source. You both graduated from the Durmstrang Institute several months ago, yes?"

The Dark Lord pauses long enough for Kaelen and Alyssa to nod apprehensively in tandem. "Then it should not be difficult for you to appear at Hogwarts under the guise of transfer students. Seventh years, driven to another institution after you've grown disenchanted with Durmstrang. Your objective is to assimilate into the student body and avoid arousing suspicion, to gain information on the movements of Harry Potter and his friends, and to relay that information back to me through Severus Snape. In addition to this, you will also be expected to assist – ah, just in time."

A hiss announces Nagini's re-arrival, accompanied by an adolescent, male silhouette darkening the door of the study. The form is unrecognizable from the shadows, but Kaelen's eyebrows drift dangerously close to his hairline when the firelight finally casts a revealing glow on a flurry of platinum blonde hair and nervous silver eyes. "Draco?"

"Hello, cousin." Second cousin, technically, Kaelen finds the words licking snarkily along the backs of his teeth but refrains from shooting the acerbic comment into the air simply because he's taken aback at what utter hell the younger boy looks like, fingers twitching sporadically and the attempt of a smile coming out as more of a grimace. Despite their distant relationship – Kaelen's grandfather's sister had been the wife of Draco's grandfather – there is a definitive family resemblance between the two; regal posture that comes inherently in their blood, the shape of the eyes even though they differ in color, snow-pale complexions, and Kaelen can see the Dempsey bone structure, stark cheekbones and pointed chin cast into even sharper relief by the fire's shadows and the fact that Draco looks like he hasn't eaten a decent meal in weeks. There are things swirling in the argent depths of his cousin's eyes that Kaelen isn't used to seeing – Nervousness. Apprehension. Terror. He feels that instinctual foreboding humming beneath his skin again. If this situation has both Alyssa and Draco on edge, there can be nothing beneficial that comes of it. Nonetheless, here and now is not the time and place to lose his cool, and the tawny-eyed boy merely nods indifferently in response to Draco's greeting.

"Fancy seeing you here," Kaelen drawls boredly, examining the nonexistent dirt under his nails. "Heard about your initiation. Congratulations."

Draco nods mutely, pale fingers ghosting over his robe-covered forearm where Kaelen knows a Mark identical to his own is seared into the skin, probably prickling with irritation the way his own still does occasionally. "Last week. Heard about your father. Nice work."

"Thanks."

"I have given Draco a very special task," the commanding presence of the Dark Lord's voice cuts off the stiff, awkward conversation definitively, drawing all three of the young Death Eaters' attention back to him. Kaelen doesn't like the way he lingers on the word _special_ with a malicious twist of thin, snakelike lips, likes it even less when he sees Draco's barely-noticeable cringe in response. There is something much bigger beneath the surface here, and he's not sure how deep he can delve before entering dangerous waters. "In addition to your mission, the two of you are to assist him in any way he may see fit to ask you. Keep in mind that subtlety is key in your surveillance – Rocciano, you could do with taking a few pages from Dempsey's spell book on that matter."

Alyssa, who in all truth is about as subtle as a box of Filibuster's Fireworks, says nothing, but the sour expression tugging downwards at the corners of her lips speaks volumes. Kaelen knows he will hear about it later in a raging fit about how for the love of Merlin she doesn't _need _subtlety when she can cut down anyone in her path with ruthless maliciousness, but he finds himself sending a silent thank-you to his best friend when she only purses her lips and nods curtly, for once seeming to know when to keep her mouth shut. The Dark Lord regards them over steepled fingers with a cold analysis that Kaelen is all too familiar with (he regards the world in the same manner and knows how a chess player looks when planning the movement of their pawns), nodding almost imperceptibly as if he's found something among their ranks worthy of approval – they will do, for now. "The train leaves September first. I trust that you all understand the terms of your tasks. Draco, you know what you are to do. Dempsey, Rocciano, I'll expect word from you in a few weeks."

It's a clear dismissal, and Kaelen and Alyssa rise from their chairs to stand beside Draco, all three of them bowing in unison before beginning to retreat from the study in silence. Hovering in the doorway behind the others, Kaelen turns slowly and regards the now-shadowed form still occupying the chair beside the fire. "We won't let you down, my lord."

"See that you don't, Dempsey. See that you don't."

The quiet hangs heavy even outside the room, the plush décor of Malfoy manor even more oppressive than usual as the three make their way past portraits that look down on them with a mixture of scrutiny and high expectations that have been sitting heavy on their shoulders for as long as any of them can remember. Draco accompanies them as far as the grand staircase in the foyer before withdrawing back to the house's labyrinthine halls, mumbling something about seeing them on the first as Kaelen and Alyssa make their way to the front door alone.

"Fucking _bollocks!_" Alyssa explodes as soon as the two are well outside the Malfoy's gate, kicking angrily at the ground and sending a spray of gravel flying in her wake before turning around to glare in Kaelen's direction, her stormy expression indignant. "We put all that work into getting in, and for what? To be sent _back _to school when we've already graduated, told to do some snooping and babysit your snot-nosed cousin for a year! What a load of tosh!"

"Second cousin," Kaelen corrects her serenely, face impassive even though he feels an echo of her indignation flare in himself, painting an icy-dark stain over his skin. In truth, the perceived injustice does needle him, silent but very present beneath his glacial composure. He hadn't been expecting grunt duty. Hadn't signed up for grunt duty. Hadn't killed his father for grunt duty (but he'd be lying to himself to say that he wouldn't have done it anyway). Still, if he allows her to get fired up now, Kaelen knows he'll never hear the end of it, so he merely sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and huffing in a pedantic tone, "We're still relatively new, Lyss. We've got to pay our dues. He's not going to put us on the front lines right out of the gate."

"Bullshit, Kae. _Bullshit._ Draco's fucking _sixteen_ and he's on some top-secret assignment that we're too insignificant to know the details of. This whole thing is the most ridiculous pile of –"

"Do _you_ want to go back and tell the Dark Lord you're not interested in the mission, then?" That shuts her up.

They walk in silence for a while longer, Alyssa seething and Kaelen mulling over the past hour's events in the sequestered recesses of his mind, robes flowing behind them along the forest path clad in dancing shadows of dusk. In all reality he has no idea where they're going or why they're walking along aimlessly like this, they should have just apparated to their respective homes as soon as they'd set foot off the Malfoy's grounds, but they both seem to have preferred the other's companionship in opposition to spending the evening alone with their newfound thoughts and anxieties. The silence is far more bearable if they endure it together.

Besides, Kaelen isn't looking forward to what awaits him back at the manor, having to explain to his grandfather what has transpired and why he'll be performing menial tasks that will do nothing to restore the Dempsey name for the next year. Ambrose Dempsey is neither a patient nor forgiving man, and never fails to remind his grandson at least every ten seconds how it is now his duty to rebuild the family's honor after his father had so effectively destroyed it. He won't take the news that Kaelen has been ordered to skulk around the halls of Hogwarts grubbing for information any better that Alyssa is currently taking it, and right now the lanky eighteen-year-old isn't inclined to deal with yet another tirade. At least he can tell Lyss to shut up if he wants.

"We'll have to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow. Get new supplies, maybe grab some lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and start on a game plan," he murmurs after a while, the descending darkness now so thick that he can barely make out Alyssa's silhouette. Kaelen sighs again, bringing a slender palm up to cover his face. "My grandfather's going to have a hippogriff over this."

Alyssa snorts, and Kaelen can almost hear her crooked, wry smile. "Doesn't he over everything?"

"Point taken."

They lapse back into quiet again, walking along the path until they reach a crossroads in a clearing where Alyssa gradually comes to a stop, rubbing her thumb along the grip of her wand uncertainly. "We should probably go home."

"We should," the taller boy nods his assent, pulling his own wand out from the folds of his robes. He eyes the length of mahogany (thirteen inches, dragon heartstring, supple, remembers getting it like it was yesterday) contemplatively, mulling over his thoughts again before looking back up at his friend, finding the glimmer of her eyes in the darkness. "You scared, Lyss?"

"Me, scared? You're fucked in the head, Dempsey," she smirks, moving over to wrap around his waist in a languid, one armed embrace before trotting away a few steps and raising her wand. "Besides, this is easy work. Foolproof. Why the hell would we be scared? See you tomorrow, then. You're buying lunch."

Before Kaelen even has time to protest that damn it, he's not paying for her to knock back a whole bottle of firewhiskey on her own like he did last time, she's gone. _Why would we be scared?_ reverberates like a tolling bell in his head, and he heaves a heavy breath, narrow ribcage rising and falling visibly beneath his robes. _Why would we be scared?_

"I don't know," Kaelen mumbles to the endless night, raising his wand. "But I feel like we should be."

A flash of light, and the clearing stands empty, the wind whistling mournfully through the trees.


	2. Summer's On Its Deathbed

"And here's the Charms corridor! There's a tapestry down around the corner that likes to make jokes about you as you walk by, but it normally stops if you ignore it. Also, that suit of armor to your left is a notorious pickpocket, takes the quills right out of your bag if you're not careful. Oh, and sometimes the ghosts will come through that wall over there, you'll want to watch out, it's nasty if they float through you…"

Kaelen's eye twitches for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes, his right shoulder screaming in protest after hauling his trunk and school supplies up endless staircases and across innumerable hallways. Hogwarts makes Durmstrang look like a dollhouse when it comes to the size comparison, and they've already been led down so many twists and turns that he's almost positive he would wander until he died of starvation if left to his own devices. The roaring tension headache licking along his temples isn't helped by the indignant shrieks of Socrates from within his cage, wings beating the bars with loud metallic clangs each time Kaelen's trunk rolls over a bump in the uneven stone floor. The regal-looking barn owl isn't used to such a means of travel and has been a high-maintenance pain in the neck ever since they left the manor, but seeing as the haughty bird is his only friend besides Alyssa, Kaelen hadn't been inclined to leave him behind.

The greater contributor to his headache, though, comes in the form of Jace Wheaton, a seventh-year prefect that has made it his personal duty to give them a tour of the entire castle before the sorting ceremony begins. Wheaton is a never-ceasing bundle of energy and words, several inches shorter than Kaelen, with a stockier build and a round, friendly face with a smile brighter than a Lumos charm. His fingers seem to twitch with an unseen current on a constant basis, coming up every few seconds to brush a shock of disheveled brown hair out of eyes so startlingly blue that Kaelen had wondered for a second if he'd enchanted them to look that way. All in all, Jace Wheaton might be cute if it weren't for his damned _mouth_, which hasn't stopped moving throughout the some two-odd hours of their tour. Kaelen's heard about people like Wheaton from somewhere, attention-defecate-something-or-other, and if his head wasn't pounding with every punctuation of the shorter boy's explosive, overly-loud tenor and irritating Irish accent, he might be amazed how someone can talk for so long without taking a breath.

"There's the first floor bathrooms, although the ones on the third floor are the best in my opinion, and if you turn this corner up here it will lead you to the Hufflepuff common room – oh, I'm not supposed to tell you that! Oh, well, here's hoping you'll be sorted into Hufflepuff! We're a fun lot. Although I shouldn't be giving you prejudices towards certain houses. My twin sister Devyn's in Slytherin, and she's all right."

If one of Alyssa's looks could kill, Wheaton would be dead many times over. Her eyes have been narrowed into dark, agitated slits for the past ten minutes at least, mutinous grumbling lost under Wheaton's babble, but now her features shift into an acerbic deadpan. "If you're twins and she's all right, then what the fuck happened to you?"

"Alyssa, behave," Kaelen drawls, wincing as his trunk hits a particularly uneven bump in the floor, causing his shoulder to throb and Socrates to have an absolute conniption, infuriated screeching covering up the tentative sound of Wheaton's awkward laughter, uncertainty ingrained into his affable features. He thinks Alyssa must be kidding. Kaelen knows she isn't. Pausing and pretending to adjust one of the buckles on his trunk, he leans close enough to murmur into the shell of the smaller girl's ear, eyes sharp and reprimanding. "Subtlety, Lyss. Practice it."

"Can't we just make him shut up? They'll never find the body."

Kaelen hears the joke within the whisper, sees it flashing in the dark recesses of her eyes, but glares at her nonetheless, a perfect eyebrow arching sardonically. "If you keep talking like that you'll blow our cover faster than you can say 'lifetime in Azkaban.' Besides, I don't want Loudmouth over there getting in a huff and deciding to leave us to find our own way out here. There are far more esoteric ways to insult someone if you feel you must."

"What's the fun of insulting someone if they don't _know_ you're insulting them?"

"Personal fulfillment."

"You're mad, Dempsey."

Kaelen smiles, a curvature of lips and flash of teeth that has been called unsettling by many, enough to send a chill up the spine of those who aren't accustomed to it. "I know. And I lavish in every minute of it."

Alyssa rolls her eyes, hauling her trunk back into motion with far less effort than it takes Kaelen to do the same (it's a source of pride for her and shame for him that she's at least five times stronger than his toothpick frame), the small ball of fur in the cage attached to it mewling pitifully. He'd been taken aback when Lyss had said that she was getting a cat that day in Diagon Alley, had tried to tell her that the firewhiskey must have gone to her head because she couldn't keep _plants_ alive, much less a cat, but the statement had only earned him a painful punch to the arm and a determined glare as his best friend turned on her heel and marched into the Magical Menagerie. The aforementioned feline is all black saved for a white patch of fur on his chest, shaped into an oddly precise star. Kaelen had joked at the time that the cat must be a Dempsey, holding up a hand to show an old signet ring emblazoned with his family crest, a golden star bearing an intricately scripted 'D' in front of two crossed wands.

Five seconds later, the thing had hissed like a demon, leapt through the air, and attached itself to the top of his head, claws tearing into his scalp. He didn't make the suggestion again.

"Wheaton, is the damn tour almost over? Nameless is getting restless," Alyssa snaps, lacing her fingers through the bars of the kitten's cage to scratch behind his ears. The demonic thing instantly begins to purr, curling around his mistress' hand like a loyal sycophant even though she hasn't even given him so much as a name yet. Kaelen feels the phantom bite of claws sinking into his scalp and shudders, shooting the little fluff ball a murderous glare.

"You have my permission to eat that thing if you're so inclined," he mumbles to the inhabitant of the cage on top of his own trunk. Socrates ruffles his feathers and hoots in agreement. Kaelen smirks. "I knew we were on the same page."

"And up at the astronomy tower you can really see the stars - astronomy is my favorite class, you know - and it's like the whole world is looking down on you," Wheaton babbles on, seemingly unfazed by their behind-back conversation, lilting accent warping his words until they come out sounding like _astroonmee tar_ and _tha hall woorld. _"Been thinking I'd like to do something with astronomy when I get out of school, plot star charts or something. Sometimes if you discover a new heavenly body they even name it after you!"

"I'm sure you'd be a star to remember if you ever find a place, Wheaton," Kaelen replies, acrimonious snark positively _dripping_ from his lips like poisoned honey, but the shorter boy simply beams, the sarcasm shooting straight over his head. Kaelen smiles smugly, leaning down to whisper to Alyssa again as the human ball of energy turns back around and continues pinging off the walls, prattling on after the brief respite. "And _that,_ my young apprentice, is how you subtly insult someone."

Alyssa flips him the bird with a saccharine smile.

"Yeah, we're almost done, I just have to show you the greenhouses and then take you back to the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony and we'll be – Bentley, hi!" Wheaton pauses his stream of words long enough to wave to a form approaching the trip from the opposite end of the hallway. Bentley is a petite girl of Asian descent with a friendly face and smooth honeyed skin, a certain ethereal grace in her stride that makes it seem almost as if she's dancing down the hallway. Deep brown almond-shaped eyes shimmer amiably in contrast with the blue tie and lining of her school robes that mark her as a Ravenclaw, and she offers the group a sweet, genuine smile as Wheaton runs forward and grabs her by the hand, all but yanking her down the hallway. "Bent, come meet the new transfer students!"

"Oh, so you're the ones everyone's talking about. From Durmstrang, yeah? I'm Bentley Swann," she says in an airy, not-all-there but still pleasant voice, extending a delicate, bird-boned hand in their general direction. The Swanns are another of the old pureblood families, so Kaelen is positive that he's related to this girl in some way, although he can't recall seeing her at any family gatherings. Perhaps they're something too distant to mention, fourth-cousins-twice-removed or some such intricacy, which thankfully means that she shouldn't know enough to realize that he's a year too old to be standing in these halls. Imperius curses are hard work and tiring maintenance, and Kaelen isn't too inclined to do any more cover-ups than he'll have to as it is. "So Jace is showing you around? Do you like the Hogwarts so far?"

Alyssa shakes her hand first, a look on her face that Kaelen knows all too well as she surveys the other girl, and he very nearly rolls his eyes. Leave it to her to be on the prowl before they've been in the castle for one day. "Alyssa Rocciano. And yes. It's bigger than we're used to, but it's… interesting."

_Interesting,_ says the girl who's been whining in his ear that the place is too bloody huge and confusing and damn it, why can't we go home for the past two hours. Kaelen does his best to hold back an amused snort but it comes out anyway, a huff of air that echoes through the corridor and causes both of the girls to turn to him, Bentley with a serene grin and Lyss with a glare like flames. The smaller of the two extends her arm in his direction this time, the sincerity ingrained in her features and smile something he isn't used to at all (growing up in an ivory tower of lies and deceit destroyed whatever nubile trust in people he might have had). Bentley Swann, he decides, is an open book. He pities her for that weakness. "And you. You're a Dempsey, I can tell. The eyes, you know."

The aforementioned xanthous orbs blink slowly in response, their owner slightly taken aback at Bentley's seeming knowledge of his family's dominant features until he remembers that she's probably familiar with some of his relatives. He nods briskly, grasping her hand firmly in his own, her skin smooth and warm beneath the rougher, colder planes of his palm. "I am. Kaelen Dempsey. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, you're _that_ Kaelen Dempsey!" Bentley says excitedly, smile broadening. "Elvira's brother!"

"_Half_ brother." Kaelen doesn't exactly mean for the curt statement to come out in such a vicious snarl, but takes a twisted sort of pleasure in the way that Bentley's smile falters, her affable sunshine dimmed to a mute glow in the icy gale that all but ripples off his skin at the mention of that _thing,_ the entire reason for his family's downfall. This was one of the reasons he hadn't wanted to come here – seeing Elvira for obligatory family functions was unpleasant enough, but spending all day locked up in the same building with her will surely be enough to spur him to make decisions he might later regret. Not that he'd regret killing the filthy little half-breed home-wrecker that had ruined his life, but her death isn't worth blowing their cover. At least not now.

Wheaton blinks those unnaturally blue eyes of his for a few seconds before splitting into a grin that almost outshines Bentley's. "Wicked! I thought the last name was just a coincidence, but come to think of it I can see the resemblance. Elle's one of our new prefects this year. Your sister's in my house!"

"_Half_ sister." Kaelen seethes. Bad enough that the little chit had to go and shatter his family's proud lineage, she's also a Hufflepuff. Shameful.

The other boy seems to finally notice the tension hanging thick in the air and chuckles nervously, swiftly steering the subject elsewhere as Alyssa's hand brushes a silent statement of both soothing and warning against Kaelen's forearm. "Erm, well… Bentley's the president of our Care of Magical Creatures Club! I'm sure she could find spots for you two if you wanted in!"

Alyssa shoots Wheaton a glare that sends him into a (merciful) sputtering silence but turns back to the Ravenclaw girl with a much gentler look on her face. "I might be interested. Don't bother with Kae, though. He can't make it through an hour without my cat attacking him; I'd hate to see him on the wrong side of a hippogriff."

"Oh, you have a cat? I love cats!" Bentley beams, clapping her hands excitedly like someone's just told her Christmas is coming early and skirting around Alyssa to coo between the cage's bars ad the wide-eyed kitten. "Hello, precious! Aren't you a handsome fellow?"

"You'll want to watch your face, Bentley, that thing's evil," Kaelen deadpans, scalp prickling unpleasantly again at the memory of tiny, phantom claws. But even given this warning Bentley carefully opens the cage, reaching in with one hand and scooping the black-and-white bundle into the crook of her arm. And damn it all, the thing curls up there and starts purring like it's in front of a fireplace, nuzzling its head against the dark fabric of her robes affectionately. Squawking indignantly, Kaelen throws his hands in the air. "Am I the only one he doesn't like?"

Alyssa smirks. "He's got good taste."

"Oooh, does he have a name?" Bentley asks, squealing elatedly when Alyssa shakes her head in response. "I'm great with naming pets! We'll call him… Lord Tubbington."

Kaelen discovers the hard way that a stone floor fucking _hurts_ when one falls to their knees in the throes of hysterical laughter, eyes watering with pain and mirth as his narrow ribcage wheezes for breath. "L-Lord… But he's not even _fat._"

"He looks like a Lord Tubbington to me."

With a scowl that would strike fear into the heart of a giant, Alyssa stalks over and hauls him unceremoniously to his feet, a sharp kick to the back of his ankle turning howls of hilarity into a stifled grunt of pain as she turns back to Bentley and offers a wry smile, taking the kitten from the other girl's arms and slipping him back into the cage. "Lord Tubbington it is. So, I heard mentions of a Great Hall and a sorting ceremony and food. Sounds like a party."

Wheaton nods enthusiastically, jumping back into the conversation with springs on his feet. "Oh, it's a blast! There's all this food and the first years get put into houses and they'll make a big ruckus over the two of you since you're transfers and it's rare that we get those. You'll be the stars of the show!"

Kaelen groans, fingers rubbing at his temples where the tension headache is starting to flare up again. So much for subtlety. "Great."

The Great Hall doesn't get its name from nowhere, massive beyond even Kaelen's imagination and gleaming in the light of a million hovering candles overhead. It might be a beautiful sight if he weren't currently squirming under the scrutiny of every single student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He and Alyssa don't exactly blend in with the diminutive, wide-eyed crowd of first years, and apparently the word of new transfer students has spread like wildfire among the student body. There is not a single person in this room that isn't watching them. Kaelen's eyes are drawn to one boy in particular, though, who seems to be watching him with more interest than the others from the Gryffindor table. He has tousled, dark hair and even darker eyes, wide and trusting and not unlike a puppy's. There's a certain exotic feel to his features, handsome but not classically so, lips too full and nose set half an inch too low on his face. But all of the things that could be flaws combine with his sturdy bone structure in such a way that it enhances rather than detracts from the aesthetic quality of his features. And then he smiles, seemingly having caught Kaelen returning his stare across the room, a brilliant flash of teeth in the candlelight that makes Bentley and Wheaton's grins pale in comparison. The boy waves and attempts some form of cannibalized half-sign-language that Kaelen can only draw vague references from (he thinks it might be _come sit with me if you end up in Gryffindor_ or maybe someone just shoved an ice cube down the back of his robes, who knows) before a hush settles over the room as a tall wizard with a silvery beard approaches the podium in front of the staff table – Albus Dumbledore. Kaelen's certainly eaten enough chocolate frogs to know his face from the cards if not from any other source.

"Welcome, welcome," Dumbledore says fondly, a patriarchal smile bestowed upon all of the Great Hall's occupants as he launches into a somewhat long-winded speech that Kaelen honestly doesn't pay attention to, distracted by the tantalizing smell of food from somewhere in the distance and the furtive looks that the boy from the Gryffindor table keeps shooting him, smiling broadly whenever Kaelen meets his gaze. After a few repetitions of this delicate dance of subtle stares, Kaelen actually finds himself smiling back, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards a bit before he looks back to Alyssa or makes another visual sweep of the magnificent hall. He's not looking forward to slogging through his seventh year over again, but at least Hogwarts seems to have far more hospitality than Durmstrang ever did.

The sorting ceremony is conducted by an austere-looking witch that Dumbledore refers to as Professor McGonagall, who takes the stage with a long scroll of parchment and a very dingy old hat in hand. Kaelen arches an eyebrow, leaning over to his into Alyssa's ear. "So we put the hat on and that's how our houses are chosen."

"That's what Wheaton said," Alyssa nods, looking equally as skeptical. "Bonkers, isn't it?"

"Quite."

But the two of them both jump back a bit in surprise when "Abrams, Beatrice" is called to the front and settles onto the provided stool, and the hat placed on her head ruffles of its own accord, splits at the seam and shouts out "Hufflepuff!"

"Well I'll be damned," Alyssa huffs, crossing her arms over her chest as the Hufflepuff table erupts into applause. Kaelen sees Jace Wheaton, prefect's badge gleaming on his robes, patting the newcomer on the shoulder and ushering her into a seat, but more importantly sees the meek form huddled a few seats down from her, long honey-brown waves falling almost enough to obscure regal bone structure and wide, amber eyes that match his own. Alyssa must hear the feral hiss that blooms over his lips, because her arm shoots out immediately, a strong hand gripping his spindly forearm in a steady way that leaves no room for argument. "Don't even think about it, Kae. Subtlety, remember?"

He grumbles but doesn't give her a dignified response, glaring daggers until Elvira, fifteen years of age but looking much younger by virtue of her slight built and petite stature, looks up and makes eye contact, tawny pools widening and letting out a panicked squeak that Kaelen can't hear above the rabble of "Richards, Lucas" being sorted into Gryffindor but still sees in the motion of her lips. His hard stare intensifies, pure, merciless ice boring straight into his half-sister's soul as he makes himself heard without even having to speak. She knows he's too old to be here. He dares her to say something about it. She doesn't. Kaelen nods slowly as if telling her she's made a wise decision before turning away with an unpleasant sneer pulling at his lips, Alyssa looking at him with an expression he can't quite place.

"And as many of you may have heard, we are joined this year by two new transfer students, both seventh years, who will be joining us in transfer from the Durmstrang Institute," McGonagall says primly, rolling up the scroll in her hands and stowing it away in the folds of her robes. "You are all expected to welcome your new classmates and assist them should they be in need of it. If Kaelen Dempsey could please step forward?"

Kaelen doesn't blush. Blushing is a sign of weakness, of caring what the general populace thinks of him when he clearly is above such petty things. He does _not_ blush. Tells himself that the heat across his cheekbones is from the close proximity of the floating candles rather than from the wide-eyed stares of the crowd and the hushed murmur rippling around him as his last name perks up ears that hadn't been expecting to hear it. The journey to the podium is a few yards that feels more like a million miles, but then he catches the eye of the boy at the Gryffindor table again, who flashes him a scintillating smile that makes the trek seem a bit easier. By the time he lowers himself onto the stool that was _very_ clearly built to accommodate an eleven-year-old and not a six-foot-four beanpole of a young adult, he could swear that his heart wasn't even hammering loudly enough to be heard by those around him.

He's not sure what he expects when the hat plops onto his head and obscures his vision, but he definitely wasn't anticipating it _talking_ to him.

_Ah, another Dempsey! Thought I'd seen the last of you lot when I sorted your sister!_

_**Half**__sister, _Kaelen growls internally, somehow knowing that the thing can probably hear his thoughts.

_Hmm, you're a tricky one, Kaelen Dempsey. A tricky one indeed,_ the hat hums contemplatively, mulling over whatever it's found tumbling around inside his head. _There's intelligence, yes, strategy and good sound logic. Enough that you'd succeed in Ravenclaw. Cunning, ambition, ruthlessness. You'd make a fine Slytherin. And bravery. Much, much bravery, fierce loyalty and a desire to protect. You'd be a credit to Gryffindor house as well._

He cocks his head inquisitively at the last part. Loyalty? Protectiveness? Maybe to and for Alyssa, but not in relation to anyone else he can think of. _I don't think I'm cut out for Gryffindor, if I have a say in the matter, thanks. I'm really not that protective._

_Oh, but you are. Perhaps too protective. You are one of those whose drive to protect the ones they love can turn into something that destroys them instead of saves them. You'll want to be careful with that in the future, Kaelen Dempsey. A destructive love is little better than hatred. But if you're sure, I think you'll prosper in…_

"Slytherin!"

The green-clad table on the far end of the hall positively _roars_ its approval, Draco patting him heartily on the back as he's led to a seat among his new housemates. He grins smugly as one of the boys from some pureblood family or another shakes his hand vigorously, blustering that it's "'Bout time we had a Dempsey back in the ranks!"

"Alyssa Rocciano, please?"

Alyssa looks pale and a little woozy as she makes her way to the front, fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the stool as silence hangs heavy in the candle-filled air for a full minute before the hat finally ruffles on her head and calls out a loud, confident "Slytherin!"

Kaelen's face splits into an elated grin as his best friend slides into the space next to him, a lanky arm wrapping amicably around her shoulders. "'Lo there, housemate."

"Hi." Alyssa still seems a little shaky, her smile faltering but eventually growing in confidence as the surrounding Slytherins welcome her and make reasonably friendly introductions, although Kaelen's surname seems to have won him more popularity among this crowd.

"What the _hell_ is he doing here?"

Draco's indignant screech pipes up from beside him, and Kaelen's head snaps in his direction. "What's who doing where?"

His cousin's enraged gaze is fixed on the Gryffindor table, where the boy who's been smiling at him all evening is now engaged in a conversation with another dark-haired boy, the latter with glasses and a very noticeable scar on his forehead. Well, that's convenient. Eyebrows drawing together contemplatively, Kaelen elbows Draco in the side, nodding in the Gryffindor table's direction. "Who is that?"

"That's Harry Potter, you dolt! And he should be halfway back to London by now with a broken nose, how in the name of _Merlin_ –"

"I know who Harry Potter is, Draco, I'm not stupid," Kaelen snipes, rolling his eyes. "I meant the boy next to him. Big brown eyes, nice smile, currently dipping enough mashed potatoes for ten people onto his plate. Him."

"Oh." Draco's eyes flick in Kaelen's direction full of unspoken questions, but he answers the inquiry without adding (too much of) his own input. "That's Colt Hanlon. He's in your year, prefect, typical idiot Gryffindor. He hangs around with Potter and the Weasleys and that lot, I don't have much to do with him. Why do you ask?"

Colt Hanlon looks up from his ridiculous amount of food, eyes the color of molten chocolate catching his across the open space, and breaks into another brief smile before being drawn back into his conversation with Harry Potter. Kaelen shrugs, reaching for the heaping plate of grilled chicken closest to him. "No reason."

He tells himself that the smile is only lingering on his lips because he's found the perfect information source.


	3. In Love, I've Always Been A Mercenary

Kaelen's footsteps echo eerily off the walls of the empty corridor, the only sound save for the mumbles and snores coming from the occupants of the moving paintings on the walls as soft morning sunlight filters through the high windows. He feels odd and out of place walking to class without Alyssa by his side, something that had been a staple of his daily routine at Durmstrang, but she had sped off in pursuit of Bentley Swann immediately following breakfast, mumbling something about maybe discovering important information through Care of Magical Creatures Club and causing Kaelen to roll his eyes at her blatant ulterior motives in that particular endeavor. First day of classes and she's already lost sight of the objective. Why is he not surprised?

The hallway is oddly abandoned for this time of day, the amber-eyed boy muses, rifling through his bag and pulling out a schedule scrawled haphazardly across a scrap of parchment. Transfiguration with the Gryffindors first period, followed by a free period, Charms with the Ravenclaws, Ancient Runes, Potions with the Gryffindors again, and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs (if Jace Wheaton even _implies_ that they should work together Kaelen swears he'll go running out of the greenhouses faster than a Boggart confronted with an audience at a stand-up comedy show, detention or not) before he's done for the day. He tries and fails to remember something about Wheaton's tour of the castle besides a never-ending steam of inane babble, blinking in confusion as he looks around at the corridor's vaulted ceilings and rich décor and decides that he must be going the wrong way. Transfiguration is up in one of the castle's many towers (North? East? North, he's fairly certain), he remembers that much, so the first floor clearly isn't the place to be wandering about. Turning on his heel and grumbling about the blatant inconvenience of Hogwarts being so bloody huge, Kaelen sets back off the way he came, slender fingers tugging at the knot of his silver-and-green- striped tie. He checks his watch as he reemerges into the entrance hall and curses again at the realization that he's already late, robes billowing out behind him as he starts up the far left staircase two steps at a time. At least he remembers the way to class now, Wheaton's lilting accent chirping the instructions to his brain in an irritating phantom memory. Up these stairs, left, up the next staircase, two rights, a left, and then –

With an almighty heave, the staircase lurches sharply to the side, the grating noise of stone scraping against itself filling Kaelen's ears as the momentum sends his spindly frame crashing rather painfully against the ornately carved banister. Clinging to the handrail for dear life and spouting obscenities that would make a swear toad blush, the young Death Eater can only watch in abject horror as the stairs twist on their axis, swinging themselves (and him) through the open air of the entrance hall before settling with another loud scrape and thud against another landing. Eyes wide and face drained of color, Kaelen maintains a white-knuckled grip as he finishes his ascent, taking a few tentative steps down the length of a corridor he's never seen before. When he turns back around, deciding to go back down to the ground floor and figure out another way to class, the staircase is gone, already travelling back to its original home. He is lost, he is frustrated, and as of now he is five minutes late to Transfiguration.

"Oh, _bugger._"

Glaring mutinously at nothing in particular, Kaelen stalks down the stretch of hallway, treading carefully up the next few flights of stairs he comes across, now faced with no other choice besides possibly sitting at the top of where the stairs used to be and calling for help, which really isn't a choice at all – he'd sooner wander until he died of starvation than lower himself to assistance from the plebeians. Pulling his wand from his bag with a scowl, he perches the length of mahogany carefully on his outstretched palm, muttering a hasty Four-Point Spell under his breath. If class is in the North Tower, then going north is the best start he can give himself at this point. The wand snaps sharply to his right, humming slightly in his hand and indicating the direction that is probably his only hope of making it out of the labyrinthine halls. Kaelen nods before slipping it back into the confines of his bag, turning the next corner he comes across and stepping carefully down the length of another hallway – after all, if the stairs can move, who's to say that the floor won't suddenly decide to fall out from underneath him? But this option doesn't seems too fruitful either; the hall runs to a dead end, an impassive stone wall bearing a large portrait of a very plump lady in a pink dress who is currently glaring at him as if his presence in the hallway is the most offensive thing imaginable.

"Erm, excuse me," Kaelen says, his voice an even monotone that betrays nothing of his growing desperation. "Could you possibly tell me –"

"I most certainly cannot and will not!" the lady in the portrait exclaims, ruffling her skirts indignantly. "You think you're the first upstart young Slytherin that's tried to get past me and cause mayhem? I assure you, young man, you are not! Now be off with you!"

"But I just –"

"I am not interested in whatever excuse you may have concocted. On your way!"

Kaelen growls in frustration, fingers carding through light brown locks and mussing the previously immaculate style. "Are all the paintings in this madhouse this insufferable, or are you just an exception?"

"Well you obviously haven't met Sir Cadogan up on the third floor if you think our dear lady here is insufferable," a different, distinctly masculine voice splits the air and Kaelen jumps in surprise, whirling around to search for its source but seeing only the vast emptiness of the corridor. He jumps again when he turns back around and is no longer looking at the painting of the fat lady, but rather a somewhat sleepy-looking, smiling Colt Hanlon, who is crawling out of a newly revealed hole in the wall behind the painting, which has been swung forward like a door so that its occupant is facing the wall. "Have the Slytherins already roped you into making mischief in the name of inter-house rivalry, Kaelen Dempsey? I'm disappointed."

"I should think not," Kaelen sniffs haughtily, tawny eyes narrowing to almost-slits as he watches Colt clamber to his feet and settle the painting back into place. He catches a glimpse of comfortable-looking couches and scarlet and gold décor before the sight is replaced by the portly witch in the portrait's glare, finally struck by the realization that he's been spending the last few minutes arguing with the proverbial gatekeeper of the Gryffindor common room. "I was on my way to Transfiguration and the staircase, well… it sort of just _moved._"

"Yeah, they tend to do that," Colt nods, looking far more amused with the situation than Kaelen would like him to be, lips quirked up in an endearing half-smile and eyes flashing deep brown with mirth in the growing light coming in through the windows. The Gryffindor boy is a good five or six inches shorter than himself, Kaelen notes, but seems larger than life in the wake of a natural, easygoing sort of confidence much different from his own icy superiority, broad shoulders held in a posture that speaks of how utterly comfortable he is in his own skin. In all, he gives off an air of solidity, stability, and even though Kaelen knows that he has to be the one holding the reins around this boy, his potential fount of information, he can't help but feel a little more at ease around him. As if sensing the lapse in his composure, Colt offers a grin not unlike the ones he'd been shooting him the night before across the Great Hall, a scintillating flash of teeth that practically glows (creatures of darkness shun the light, but Kaelen can't quite stifle the small part of himself that cries plaintively for the warmth of the sun). "I can help you get to Transfiguration, though, since we've got it together. And what's more, McGonagall can't put the screws to me for over-sleeping if I say I was helping the lost new kid."

Kaelen scoffs. "And I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be of superior moral stock."

"The key word is _supposed _to be," Colt shrugs, a mischievous smirk tugging playfully at full, soft-looking lips as he extends a hand in his direction. "I'm Colt Hanlon."

"I know." Kaelen kicks himself mentally before the words have even finished leaving his mouth, his brain already tripping over itself for a follow-up as he shakes the other boy's hand. Colt's hand is built to be far more solid than his, a warm, steady grip wrapping around the bird-bone structure of his own slender palm and pianist's fingers. There's a roughness to his skin that he hadn't quite expected, worn places and calluses dragging noticeably through the movements of the handshake, but it's not unpleasant in the least, more like looking at a rare antique and seeing that the rough patches give it a certain character. The smaller boy raises an eyebrow at the statement, and Kaelen remembers a beat too late that he had meant to follow it with a decent explanation. "Erm, well… I mean… My cousin knows you. Mentioned you were a prefect."

"Oh, all right, then. Hey, is your cousin Elvir-"

"_No._ No, she isn't. Draco Malfoy. Second cousin, technically."

Colt's smile falters, his face settling into a look that seems almost disappointed as he breaks the contact between them and shoves his hands into the pockets of his robes. "Oh. Draco Malfoy. Lovely person, he is."

Now it's Kaelen's turn to quirk an eyebrow, a sardonic twist to his lips as his tucks his hands into his own pockets, mirroring the other boy. "Really? I was under the impression that he was an obnoxious little prat."

Colt lets loose a peal of unexpected laughter, his face splitting back into a good-natured smile. His laugh is nice to listen to, a clear, full-bodied tenor that sounds almost like bells, and Kaelen finds that his responding grin is completely involuntary as his companion continues to chuckle, having to reach up in order to pat him congenially on the back. "You and me, Dempsey, we're going to get along just fine."

Kaelen tames the curvature of his lips back to a neutral deadpan, lean arms crossing over his narrow ribcage. "Well, isn't that wonderful. Unfortunately, though, our newfound compatibility in the joint displeasure with my second cousin's existence isn't going to keep us from missing half of Transfiguration."

"Point taken."

"So what are classes like here? This place doesn't seem nearly as strict as Durmstrang," Kaelen notes, falling into step next to the shorter brunette as they set off down the corridor. He's never been too good at small-talk and it shows, the even tenor of his voice a bit strained as he tries to grasp for a lead-in that will possibly get two or three valuable tidbits of information before they reach class. "But then again, I'm not sure which I'd rather have, hard-nosed educational policies or moving stairs."

Colt laughs again, trotting down the staircase at the end of the hall that has resurfaced after its inconvenient disappearance, and Kaelen follows with far more trepidation, gripping the handrail and testing each step before he fully lowers his weight onto it as the dark-eyed Gryffindor looks at him with something akin to amusement mixed with sympathy. "Well, depends on your teacher. McGonagall can be a real harpy when she wants to be, but she's fair. If you do your work and actually try, she'll treat you well. The only other teacher that could even give you a problem is Snape, and you're all set with him since you're a Slytherin."

Kaelen nods, putting extra effort to keep his face impassive when Snape is mentioned. It wouldn't do for him to blow their cover by smirking at the ironic idea of his fellow operative in the mission giving him detention. "No, don't think I'll have any issues with him."

"Well, the rest of us aren't nearly as lucky on that front," Colt scowls briefly, the corners of his lips tugging downward at the memory of some injustice or undeserved detention in his past before his face shifts back to what seems to be his default good-natured grin. "Turn right up here. And let me do the talking, McGonagall will probably listen to a prefect over the new kid. No offense."

"I'm extremely offended," Kaelen deadpans, cackling internally at the way Colt's features paint him with a mask of confusion and slight awkwardness, a hand carding through his hair as he stammers for a response. The taller of the two brunettes breaks into a smirk at the sight, adjusting his bag on a narrow shoulder. "Kidding. By all means, carry out any negotiations you see fit."

"I can't tell if you're being serious or sarcastic. You might want to work on that."

"No, no, I prefer it that way."

Colt pauses in his tracks, eyes shooting in Kaelen's direction, deep brown with something sparking behind them that he can't quite place. An eyebrow rises slightly in a speculative, uncertain expression, but then the Gryffindor boy laughs (Kaelen doesn't take the initiative to notice that he has a dimple on his right cheek when he does that or that the corners of his eyes crinkle up in a way that's maybe kind of cute. He _doesn't_), the resonant sound of it filling the corridor and bouncing off the stone walls in a chorus of echoes. "You're very strange."

"Thank you."

"I like you, Dempsey," Colt smiles, nudging a door on their left open with his shoulder. "Even if you are a slimy Slytherin git."

But his smile dies under the positively murderous glare that falls on the two of them the second they step over the threshold into the Transfiguration classroom, the stern-faced witch who had officiated the Sorting ceremony staring them down with such intensity that Kaelen gets the distinct impression that she can see right through both of them. He berates himself internally for feeling so small under this woman's gaze – he's a _Death Eater_, for Merlin's sake, he's killed and pillaged and not felt the slightest whisper of remorse – but fixes his eyes on his shoes nonetheless, telling himself that the only reason he's doing it is that getting chucked in detention for insubordination won't do much to help his subtle approach.

"Mr. Hanlon, I trust you have a very good explanation as to why you and Mr. Dempsey arrived with only ten minutes left of class. Enlighten us," McGonagall says from behind the podium at the front of the room, an expectant look on her face.

Colt stammers for a moment, doing that thing where he runs his fingers through his hair again. Must be a nervous habit, Kaelen notes, meeting Alyssa's eyes across the classroom and thanking all that is holy that she seems to have saved a seat for him as the other boy finally manages to speak. "Erm… Well, professor, Kaelen got lost. The stairs changed on him, and I ran into him in the hall and helped him find his way here."

"It's understandable enough for a new student to get lost, but that doesn't explain why _you_ were wandering the halls when you should have been in class, Mr. Hanlon."

"I, erm…" Colt's face turns a violent shade of crimson. "I may have overslept. A bit. By a few minutes."

McGonagall's lips purse into a thin line, accompanied by a curt nod. "I thought as much. I'll let the house points I would have given you for helping a new student cancel out the point I would have taken for your lateness. Sit down, both of you, and at least attempt the color-changing spells we've been working on."

Kaelen sees what he meant about McGonagall – tough but fair, it's a decent prognosis – silently thankful that Colt had been the one doing the talking as he slides into the seat next to Alyssa, who immediately fixes him with a wicked smirk. "He was giving you the_ look_. Been forgetting what you're here for, Dempsey?"

"Shut up, Lyss. You've got no room to talk with that Swann girl. And I honestly did get lost."

"Good job, genius," Alyssa snorts, pointedly ignoring his allusion to her chasing after Bentley Swann rather than walking to class with him as he gestures at the open spell book in front of her. "This shit's bloody awful. I'm pants at transfiguration."

"Well, it's really more about the wand work than the incanta-"

"Shut up, Kae," she snipes, eyes narrowing. "I'm trying to concentrate and I can't hear my own thoughts over the sound of your oversized ego."

"Love you too, Lyss," he sighs, twirling his wand between spindly fingers and watching Colt Hanlon slide into an abandoned seat next to a long-haired Gryffindor girl with whom he immediately strikes up an animated conversation. He really does have a nice smile, and the habit of talking with his hands is rather endearing where Kaelen would find it annoying in most other people. The other boy's natural friendliness will come in handy, he muses. Getting information will be so much easier if it's given willingly. The only question is _how…_

"_Kaelen!_ Stop eyefucking your new friend and help me with this!" Alyssa growls on the edges of his consciousness, poking him sharply in the arm with her wand and dragging him away from his thoughts. "We're supposed to use this spell to put highlights in our partner's hair. Now hold still."

The color drains from Kaelen's face in roughly a second, eyes wide amber pools of nervousness. "Lyss, why don't you practice a bit first or someth-"

"_Pigmentum Mutatio!"_

A cloud of noxious-smelling black smoke erupts from the end of Alyssa's wand (he'd _told_ her she wasn't paying enough attention to the wand work), flying into Kaelen's face and sending him into a vicious coughing fit. When the smoke finally clears, the first thing he notices is the look of mixed amusement and horror on his best friend's face, and apprehension shoots down his spine in an icy trickle. "Alyssa… what did you do?"

And then the whole room bursts into laughter.

"I, erm… Well, I…" Alyssa manages to stutter before she too collapses into absolute howling, clutching her stomach and gasping for air. Kaelen wastes no time diving into his bag, hands scrabbling over the contents until he finds the small mirror tucked into his potions kit, yanking it out into the air and holding it far enough away to catch a glimpse of himself. Two seconds later, he shrieks in horror and the mirror shatters against the impassive stone of the floor. His hair is blue. Not just blue, but bright, violent _cerulean._

"Fix it, dammit!" he wails, fingers clutching at the formerly honey-brown strands. "Lyss, what's the bloody counter-spell? Oh Merlin, my _hair,_ I can't walk about like this all day, Why the hell did you –"

"Here, I'll fix it." A familiar tenor thickened with lingering laughter pipes up beside him, and Kaelen glances up to see Colt Hanlon hovering beside his desk looking thoroughly amused. The rest of the class has gone back to practicing (apparently these things happen often enough that they don't merit much notice), but the dark-eyed boy seems to have taken pity on him – Kaelen decides he'll save the internal rant about how he doesn't need anyone's pity for later, when his hair is a normal color . "Let me just inspect the damage first."

Unexpectedly, Kaelen feels the pads of callused fingers press up against the sharp hinge of his jawline and tilt his head to the side before gently brushing against his hair. He blinks in surprise and almost makes a snarky comment when Colt laughs again. "Good job, Alyssa. His hair's blue all the way to the roots. It's not that hard to fix, though. Same thing happened to me in the common room last night; Katie Bell ended up turning my eyes orange. Here, _Pigmentum Reverso._"

A faint, almost electric tingle prickles over Kaelen's scalp, and he gingerly brings a hand up to his hair, ruffling it experimentally before mumbling a quick repairing charm to the broken mirror and affirming that his hair is indeed back to its normal color. The sigh of relief that blooms over his lips portrays a bit more gratitude than he would like it to, but he still offers the other boy a sidelong glance as the class is dismissed and everyone begins to pack up their things. "Thanks, Hanlon. I suppose I owe you."

"No problem," Colt grins, hoisting his own bag onto his shoulder. "Even though I have to say that blue's a good color on you. Do my Charms homework sometime and we'll call it square. See you two in Potions."

"He _wants_ you," Alyssa whispers conspiratorially as the pair of them dodge into the heavy traffic of the corridor, headed towards the stairs that will lead them back towards the Slytherin common room for their free period.

Kaelen rolls his eyes dramatically, still touching his hair absently, half-afraid Colt's counter-spell will wear off and he'll be left with azure locks again. "Oh, please. All he did was help correct your spectacular failure of a color changing spell."

"And give you the fuck-me look every five seconds during the whole class."

"Do try not to be so vulgar, Alyssa, it isn't very becoming," Kaelen drawls, making a sharp turn at the bottom of the grand staircase and heading towards the dungeons. He stops for a moment, looks around to make sure no one is within earshot before speaking again, his voice low and quiet. "He's friends with Potter. If I make nice with him, we get a very solid information source. Besides, you're jumping to conclusions. I don't even know if he's –"

* * *

><p>"<em>Is Colt Hanlon gay?"<em> Draco all but screeches before collapsing in throes of laughter against the leather couch, platinum locks of hair falling in his face. It takes a full minute for him to get past the mirth enough to speak coherently, still chuckling as he pushes himself back up to a sitting position. "Is Colt Hanlon gay? Is Ireland the reigning Quidditch World Cup champions? Sweet _Merlin,_ Kaelen, they said you had considerable powers of observation!"

"I'll take that as a yes then?" Kaelen says with a sardonic arch of his eyebrow, sprawled out on a loveseat next to Alyssa with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. Draco had happened to have free period at the same time as the two of them, and Kaelen had asked the question conversationally with no special amount of interest, only to have his cousin act as if he'd just told the most hysterical joke in the world. "You say it almost as if it's a bad thing."

"Well of course it's a bad thing. We make it a point to give the little git hell for being a cocksucker at least once a day." Draco takes a few seconds to register the disbelieving looks that Kaelen and Alyssa give him, the latter's jaw actually gaping open as they both stare at him at a mixture of shock and distaste and something a little darker. "What, what's wrong with you two?"

"Well, there are multiple things wrong with Lyss," Kaelen says in his normal monotone that only barely conceals a bit of the icy displeasure spiking through his veins. Alyssa's secrets are hers to tell and he will not divulge them, but he'll certainly take the opportunity to put Draco in his place into his own hands. "But as for me, I'm a little confused. No one's been bullying me up and down the halls, and I'm about as gay as they come."

Draco blinks owlishly at him for about thirty seconds, his jaw dropping to match Alyssa's expression from moments ago. Kaelen can't really fathom his cousin's shock; true, he doesn't exactly march down the halls shouting about these things, but he doesn't work too hard to hide it. He nearly wept over his hair less than an hour ago. He has a well-known passion for designer clothing. He wears _eyeliner_, for Merlin's sake. He shrugs internally, guessing that maybe the air of icy, unspoken malice he emanates can pass for straight vibes. But Draco's face slowly knits its way into something a little less dumbfounded and a little more stern, and he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees and meeting Kaelen's eyes across the coffee table, sharp silver clashing with impassive amber. "No you bloody well aren't."

"I'm fairly certain I am, actually," Kaelen shrugs nonchalantly. "Alyssa and I fooled around a few times back at Durmstrang, and it didn't do anything for me. And I mean _look_ at her, she's a knockout. Ergo, yes, I'm a complete fruitcake, if you want me to use the lowbrow terminology. I don't see how it could be a problem that I enjoy having sex with -"

"No, you don't get it!" Draco snaps, his voice lowered to a grating half-whisper and eyes narrowed. "I don't know how they did things at Durmstrang, but that sort of shit isn't _okay_ here. It's social suicide, actually. And if you want to be so _subtle_ like you promised him you would be –" his gaze flits around nervously, but Kaelen isn't sure if he's nervous about people overhearing talk of the mission or talk of other things that are apparently taboo. "Then you'll stay under the radar and find yourself a nice girl to hang around while you're here. That one. With the dark hair and amazing legs. Her name's Reagan Cromley, she's single, I can set you up if you want."

"I'm good, thanks." Reagan Cromley is indeed a very pretty girl, with bright eyes and yes, admittedly nice legs. She seems to feel the collective of eyes on her and looks up from her conversation with Devyn Wheaton, the considerably less hyperactive twin sister of one Jace Wheaton, and waves with a pleasant sort of smile before Kaelen turns back to Draco with an acerbic smirk quirking at his lips. "I thought I made a basic point that girls aren't really my cup of tea. She is very nice looking, though, good try. But unfortunately I don't have a straight switch that I can flip. It doesn't work that way."

"Yes it does, as far as your image is concerned," Draco groans with a tone of weary exasperation, planting his face in his hands and brushing his hair back into place. "I'm just trying to help you out here. Your family's got enough shame to deal with without you bringing more down on their heads, Kaelen."

Alyssa has to physically pin him to the loveseat to keep him from pouncing on him.

Their corner of the common room explodes into a torrent of threats and cursing, with most of the former coming from Kaelen and the latter coming from the storm-eyed girl who's practically sitting on him in an effort to keep him from reaching his wand so he can hex Draco, or more likely lunge across the coffee table and stab it into his trachea. Within seconds the entire room is staring at them, glued to the spectacle interrupting their otherwise boring school day. From under the curtain of Alyssa's hair that's fallen over her shoulder and obscured his face, he can see Draco fighting a battle between looking horrified and smirking, and it sends him even further past the edge of reason. "You're one to talk about family shame, you little shit! I'd rather have a dead father than one rotting away to nothing in Azkaban because he couldn't do his job right!"

"Kae, _stop._" Alyssa's voice murmurs low and firm into the shell of his ear, overlapping Draco shouting something about bastard half-sisters and impure bloodlines that is lost under the tide of her razor-edged alto. Her thumbs dig into the pulse points of his wrists and he can feel the infuriated throb of his heartbeat against them. The whole world is a haze of red and a thirst for vengeance he can't quench, but her words calm him enough to make him see reason. "He's not worth it. Think about what would happen if you two fought. Think of the consequences. _He's not worth it._"

Kaelen feels the fight leave his body the moment she says it, stopping his struggle to leave the iron hold she has him in and letting the roar of his heartbeat fade from his ears. Alyssa may be rash and impulsive (right now he seems to be channeling that particular facet of her personality), but she speaks the truth more often than not, and Kaelen does have to give her that. There is no question that in terms of importance, Draco's mission is of more value to the Dark Lord than their little information hunt, and he can't begin to imagine the repercussions of actually managing to hurt Draco – and oh, he would have hurt him, he can still feel _Crucio_ sitting hot and heavy on the tip of his tongue - over personal squabbles and impeding his progress. Kaelen exhales shakily and nods without saying anything, too afraid of letting loose the tsunami of verbal poison that still licks along the backs of his teeth and starting the fight anew. Lyss seems to get the message and helps him to his feet while the whole common room continues to stare blankly, throwing her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door. "C'mon, we're going to be late for Charms."

He follows her mutely but goes out of his way to accidentally-on-purpose run into Draco on his way past, shooting him a murderous glare that says very clearly that this isn't over. The common room is still dead silent when the entrance closes behind them. They share that sort of weighted silence that only best friends have, the silence that speaks as they wind through the corridors until Kaelen breaks it at the top of the second staircase they climb. "What an ignorant, arrogant, deplorable little…"

He can't even find a word insulting enough to describe his cousin, so Alyssa tosses out a suggestion with a hopeful smirk. "Douchecanoe?"

Kaelen laughs when even he didn't expect to, the murderous expression on his face lifting to humor for the briefest second. "Douchecanoe. And I know how I'm really going to put the screws to him."

"How's that? It'd better be good."

"Oh, it is," Kaelen grins maliciously as he spots Colt Hanlon weaving in and out of the hall traffic. The smaller boy catches his eye through the crowd and grins, waving frantically before pointing at his own head and mouthing 'nice hair' across the open space. Against his will, Kaelen barks out another laugh, shaking his head slightly as the dark-haired form melt into the throng and out of sight. But when he looks back to Alyssa, his eyes hold something darker, a cold sort of calculation that lowers the temperature in the hall a good twenty degrees. "I've figured out a perfect way to get information. After all, they say the greatest secrets in the world are shared over pillow talk."

Alyssa's eyebrows raise almost comedically high as she looks at the spot where Colt was last seen. "You're going to fuck the information out of him?"

Kaelen' face splits into a chilling smile that holds no real mirth, only sadistic anticipation, and he nods, turning on his heel and heading toward the Charms classroom. "That's the plan, Lyss."

She's already abandoned him in favor of meeting Bentley Swann at the door, but he murmurs it once more if only to himself, a reminder that he's here for a reason and that his motivations should reflect that. Still, he can't help but feel the phantom press of warm, steady fingers against his jawline and he raises a hand to wipe the sensation away like a bothersome fly, determination sparked anew. "That's the plan."

* * *

><p>AN: Hi there! So, are you guys liking it so far? I'd appreciate reviews with opinions, constructive criticism, suggestions, anything you want to throw at me. Also, I'm thinking of a possible M rating for later chapters. Mmmmm, lemons. Yes? No? Let me know!


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